Demons Do Love Angels
by Kinelea
Summary: The mob has destroyed his home, his life's work burns in the fire and his love has left him. Erik returns to the wreckage of his home, wondering if he is somehow able to continue...Erik's POV. Please R&R.


A/N: So, here's my little Phantom story. I know nothing about Mme.Giry's past and just assumed that Meg must have had a father at some point. I do not mean to offend by getting information wrong. Feel free to tell me if Mme.Giry had a clearer past as I have not read the book. Anyway, that's all I'll say. Enjoy and please read and review.

**Demons Do Love Angels**

Everything was destroyed. I could not bear to look. Closing my eyes, I clutched the frame of the mirror I had destroyed to make my escape. But the image had been seared into my mind and could not be erased. Sheets of torn music lay everywhere amidst the broken glass and rubble. The organ had been destroyed, smashed and scorched in places. They had burned and ransacked everything-my home!-trying to find me. They had only to lift the cloth and follow the passage and they would have…

I opened my eyes once more gritting my teeth against the pain and angrily blinking away the tears. Before Christine, music had been my life…and now they were both gone from me. In a way I almost wished the mob would have found me. What was the point in living anymore? Christine-even thinking her name deepened the ache within my soul- had chosen the Vicomte and my music had been destroyed. My Don Juan had burned in the fires that still raged above. Yet, some small part of me must still have wanted to go on or else I would have remained here and let the mob find me.

I took one laborious step forward, then another, gazing around me in despair. It took all the resilience I had left (which was not much) to not fall to my knees in anguish. And yet, my eye caught something intact amidst the destruction. A grimace that was the closest I could come to a smile contorted my features. Somehow, by the mercy of someone or something (perhaps the God I had long stopped believing in?) the mob had not destroyed the musical box. It had been knocked off the table and sat askew on the ground but it was in one piece. Slowly, I knelt down, trembling hands picking up the familiar box that had been my only companion for years. I wound it and it softly played that ever so familiar melody.

Masquerade, paper faces on parade, Masquerade Hide your face so the world will never find you… 

Tears sprang to my eyes once more as even this song made me think of her. And yet, it was comforting, even as I bowed my head and clutched it tightly to me, the tears running freely once more. There was still something left.

"Erik…"

Ah, it was Mme. Giry, come to see the poor Phantom at his worst. Somehow I did not care if she should see me like this, sobbing over a musical box. She had, after all, seen me in the gypsy fair, in that cage…

A shudder coursed through my body at the memory and then anger. Explosive rage began to pound through my veins, momentarily numbing the pain of Christine's leaving and the destruction of my home. My grip tightened on the musical box and I had enough sense left to put it down before I caused it's destruction. I stood slowly, fists clenching, breath hissing through clenched teeth. How dare they! How dare they come down to my home, my last solace, and destroy it! How dare Christine leave me, how dare they beat me and keep me caged, showing me off as a freak…..

I felt a hand on my shoulder and whirled, arm raised to strike, eyes flashing, not really seeing who was before me. How dare they…

"Erik. Mon ami, they have gone." Her calm, familiar voice washed over me and I allowed her to bring my fist back down to my side.

"Do you not think I have realized that?" I snarled, jerking my hand from her grasp and turning my back once more. I clung to this rage that was so familiar, this fervent anger, for I knew beneath it was the soul-wrenching grief. That grief which I did not think I could bear much longer. I strode across the room, each destroyed possession serving to further my rage. I stormed through the debris kicking random scraps, not caring any longer that they used to be my only belongings. It did not matter, nothing mattered but this anger.

"Erik, calm yourself."

I could hear Mme. Giry coming up behind me but the words struck me as so ridiculous that a short angry bark of laughter escaped me, tinged with bitterness, and I briefly stopped kicking my things to regard her. "Calm myself, Madame! You wish me to be calm when my life has been reduced to this? When all I have lived for has been destroyed or taken from me, you wish for me to be calm? You cannot honestly expect that of me know." My voice pulsed with anger and a sneer curled my lip. How could she even contemplate such a thing?

I heard her troubled sigh and saw the worry in her eyes as she approached me once again, pulling something from the recesses of her dress. She extended it towards me and I stared at her face a moment before lowering my gaze to the object. My mask. The anger drained as quickly as it had come and a shaky hand reached out to take it from her. It was all because of my face. The reason Christine could not love me, the reason I had been locked away down in these dungeons and shunned from the world. Self loathing rose like bile in my throat and I fastened the porcelain over my distorted skin once again. It almost made me feel secure to hide the ugliness from the world but it was still there, I knew, underneath. It would never be gone until I myself was gone. _This face, the infection which poisons our love…_

Suicide was not something new to me. There were many times I had contemplated the ways of taking my own life. But as much as I thought about it, I never acted. There was always a small part of me, that overrode the sorrow and the self loathing, a part of me that knew if I did this thing, they would win. The tyrants who had put me down here would be glad, I would be giving them what they wanted. That I would never do!

Trembling, my breathing ragged, the heartbreak consumed me once more. How would it be possible for me to continue, how could I go on? I had no answer, and that knowledge was equally as dreadful as everything else that had happened in these last hours.

"What will you do now, Erik?" Madame Giry asked quietly, concern shining in her eyes. Ah, this woman, how truly wonderful she must be. She had seen me at my absolute worst, she had helped a monster escape and helped him build a home. Throughout it all, she had been there for me and even now, she still cared. If there was any higher power, this woman deserved to be blessed by it. And her friendship strengthened me a little.

I stood straighter, regarding her, and shook my head in a hopeless gesture. "I do not know."

She sighed troubled, breaking the gaze. I could tell she was trying to think of some way to help me. Which was why it pained me to ask my next question, for I knew it would hurt her. But I had to know. She was the only one I could speak to who had also suffered a great heartbreak. "What did you do when he left you? How did you go on?" My voice was soft, my eyes gentle and almost apologetic. But underneath it all there was a fire, a burning need to know. She alone could help me.

The words hit her and she almost visibly recoiled, her eyes and face flashing with such anguish that I almost wished I could have taken my words back. For though I had been there when Meg's father had left her, she had not let me comfort her. Not that I would have known how. After the first shocked reaction, her features hardened once more and she straightened, knowing why I asked. Admiration for this woman whom nothing could break flooded through me, even as I nearly trembled in anticipation to hear her words. She must have the answer. She had survived.

"First, I allowed myself to miss him, I let myself cry for him. For tears were the only way to alleviate the aching pressure in my chest. But I could not wallow in grief forever. I had a daughter who needed me and this Opera House needed me. So I had to tell myself he was not coming back, that I had to learn to live without him." Here she paused, her eyes turned inward and her gaze shot through with pain. But she cleared her throat and continued. "It was not easy, Erik, and it will not be for you. There is much self-control needed for such a task and you must let yourself grieve occasionally. But soon, you will find that these grieving periods will grow farther and farther apart. She will always be there in the back of your mind, behind your thoughts, and a part of you will always love her but you will be able to go on. The most important thing is to realize that you can go on without her, even though it does not feel like you can."

I bowed my head as I tried to absorb the heavy words that I knew were true. Gratitude and pain warred within me, for though the words stung bitterly I knew these were ones she had never spoken before to anyone. This poor Phantom was the first to ever hear them. "Merci, Madame Giry, merci beaucoup."

I looked up at her again only able to say that much though she deserved many more thank you's than I would ever be able to give. She nodded, wordlessly, and silence blanketed the two of us. We each delved into our own thoughts. I do not know what hers were about but mine were of Christine. I had but to close my eyes and I could see her before me. The sound of that voice which I had shaped rang through my ears. I remembered the two of us on stage earlier, our voices blending and heated with passion. I thought she had been mine…but almost as soon, this memory was erased and instead of my voice joining hers it was the Vicomte's as they sang of their love on the rooftop. My shoulders slumped and my limbs began to tremble as this memory was almost enough to set me to weeping again.

"Maman?"

My eyes snapped open at the barely audible query and little Meg Giry stepped forward. Her mother strode towards her, snapping a reprimand and with every intention of steering her away. But the girl had eyes for only me. I had nothing left with which to be angry, so I met her gaze with a hopeless one of my own. She seemed paralyzed unable to look away.

"So, am I everything you dreamed of? Is this how you imagined the great Phantom of the Opera?" My question was soft and tinged with perhaps a bit of self mockery. For certainly, the Phantom she had expected was long dead. Only the man (perhaps the monster) was left behind.

Meg seemed ignorant to her mother's stern reprimands and eventually the Madame just stopped talking, a hand firmly clasped on her daughter's shoulder. Meg was still staring at me, wide eyed, and I stared back expectant, patient, awaiting a response. I did not know whether to be slightly warmed or chilled by the fact that I could still strike fear into someone's heart.

The girl seemed to come out of her trance, blinking at me in amazement and stuttering over her words. "Oui, Monsieur. Uh, non monsieur. I-I'm sorry, Monsieur Fantome b-but my mother is needed up above. Th-the manager's sent me to find her." She turned to her mother eyes imploring and apologetic. "I did not know I would be interrupting." Mme. Giry's mouth was set in a firm angry line, and I could tell the child would be severely reprimanded later. "Je suise desole, Monsieur, I'm really very sorry. I didn't mean to-" I raised a hand to stop her, having just now thought of something. This girl now knew that I was still alive, that I was here. This knowledge did not worry me as perhaps it should have, a strange shroud of calm seemed to have fallen over me, conjoining with the ache I felt every second I stood there. Perhaps I no longer cared if she told and the mob came back. Perhaps this time I would let them find me. Nonetheless, Madame Giry's eyes found mine and I read in them an assurance that no one would come back. She would make certain Meg would not tell. But then, something else occurred to me, something that made my breath catch in my throat. She was Christine's best friend, she could tell my Angel that I was here, alive…. I was vaguely aware of the sound of my breath loudly hissing through clenched teeth and the fact that both Giry's were staring at me. But I was no longer concerned with them, my head whirling with thoughts and feelings, persistent questions.

If my Christine discovered I was still alive, how would she react? Would she even care? Would she (dare I hope) come to me? But no, that was foolish. She had made her choice. She would not care for the poor Phantom left behind. But did she go because she felt she had to? Did she feel obliged to go with the young Vicomte, when really it was me she cared for? It seemed evident, she loved him but wasn't there that small sliver of hope? Wasn't it possible that she would return? Without realizing it, I had sunk to my knees, overwhelmed by these battering thoughts. Someone knelt beside me and a hand touched my shoulder as another clasped my trembling one. I did not protest as whoever it was (no doubt Mme.Giry) helped me to stand and began leading me somewhere I did not see. My eyes saw only Christine and tears streamed once again, running down the smooth porcelain of my mask. They were tears of both joy and sorrow. There was still hope. Perhaps, she would come back, just maybe she would return to me…..

I clung to that hope and now, years later, I still have not given up on it. She still might come back to me, she still might return to her Angel of Music.


End file.
